


Party At Henry's

by Charowak



Series: Starbucks Store #4077 [3]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, henry blake deserved better, henry blake is not dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23378734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charowak/pseuds/Charowak
Summary: Former store manager Henry Blake invites the gang over for a party to celebrate the success of his new seafood distribution business, but something's bothering B.J.
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Series: Starbucks Store #4077 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653247
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Party At Henry's

“Mr. Pierce!”

Hawkeye, who had dozed off and fallen over the register, awoke with a sudden jolt. “Huuh!”

“I would like to order my coffee now, if your nap is over!”

Hawkeye rubbed the sleep out of his eyes to see none other than an irate Frank Burns standing in front of him. “Oh, hi, Frank. Yes.”

“Don’t worry, Frank, I’ve already started your drink,” Margaret called from the espresso machine.

The anger instantly faded from Frank’s composure; he smiled at her. “Thank you, Margaret. Some people in this store just don’t know how to do their jobs.” Frank shot a few darts into Hawkeye’s face with his stare.

“$4.36, please, Frank.” Frank deposited the exact change into Hawkeye’s hands without another word and walked over to the handoff plane to converse with Margaret.

Hawkeye tiptoed over to the other espresso machine and began pulling three shots. “Margaret, if you don’t mind, I’m going to make myself a little something to prevent another such incident.”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Fine. But make it quickly and drink it in the back, and don’t forget to mark it out.”

“You got it.”

As Hawkeye’s shots were pulling, the sliding doors to the cafe opened; he looked up over the espresso machine to see a familiar face. He locked eyes with the face and jumped up to wave. “Henry!”

“Well, if it isn’t Hawkeye Pierce!” Former store manager Henry Blake approached the register with outstretched arms; Hawkeye hastily finished his drink, set it on the register, and went out to the cafe to hug him.

“We haven’t seen you in a while, man. Have you been busy?”

“Oh, I’ve been so busy. I’m getting more customers than I could have ever dreamed of.”

“And by selling fish!” Hawkeye gestured to Henry’s fishing hat; when Henry had been store manager, the partners had loved to poke fun at it, but everyone knew Henry loved to fish and had long dreamed of opening a seafood distribution business. He had left the company a year prior in order to finally pursue that dream, and had succeeded.

“Only the finest of fish. That’s why the customers eat it up.”

Hawkeye chuckled. “It’s always a pleasure, Henry. What can I get for you?” He walked back around the counter to the register to take Henry’s order.

“Oh, just my usual.”

“Triple tall cappuccino with whole milk. You got it, sir.”

“I came here for another reason, too,” Henry said as Hawkeye typed in his drink.

“And what might that be? $5.10, please.”

Henry produced his wallet and handed Hawkeye his Starbucks gold card. “Lorraine and I are having a party Saturday evening to celebrate a year of Blake Seafood, and I’d like to invite anyone from this store who wishes to come. Lorraine will be cooking lobster for everyone, and the drinks are on me.”

“Well, you can count on me being there.” Hawkeye swiped Henry’s card and returned it to him. “Any place with free alcohol and lobster is a place I will be.”

Henry laughed. “That’s the response I expected from you. And please spread the word.”

“Consider that word spread. Have a great day, Henry.” Hawkeye smiled and waved to Henry as he moved to the handoff plane, then dipped into the back room with his drink (a hot triple espresso with some cold whole milk and vanilla) and downed it in one gulp.

Somehow, probably while Hawkeye was asleep on the register, B.J. had made his way into the back room and nestled into the swivel chair in front of the desk, where he sat, head tipped completely back, staring at the ceiling. Because he was doing it so silently, Hawkeye didn’t notice his presence until he’d finished his gulp. “Hey, Beej.”

“Hi,” B.J. said, not moving or releasing the eye contact he was engaged in with the ceiling.

Hawkeye frowned. “Something bothering you?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You know, B.J., something about the way you say ‘Don’t worry about it’ tends to make me worry about it.”

B.J. lifted his head to give Hawkeye a reassuring look that wasn’t reassuring in the slightest. “Really, Hawk, I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Whatever you say. See you when you clock on.” Hawkeye tossed his cup into the trash and went back out front; after pausing in front of the register, he edged back over to the espresso machine and started pulling some more shots.

Margaret, putting the finishing touches on Frank’s drink, said to Hawkeye through her teeth, “Hawkeye, you’re supposed to be on register.”

“Margaret,” he whispered, “I have no customers, I am making B.J.’s drink quickly, _and_ I am the shift on duty. I will be out of your way in two shakes.”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Fine, but _mark it out._ ” She handed Frank’s drink to him, her smile dripping with sugar. Hawkeye gagged.

“I saw that, Pierce!” Frank snapped, pointing his index finger at the space between Hawkeye’s eyebrows.

Margaret slammed the steaming pitcher she was holding on the bar counter. “Pierce! You have no respect for our customers.”

“Not true. I just have no respect for this customer.”

“If Sherman was here, you would be in big trouble, mister!” Frank stepped closer to the espresso machine and wagged his finger at Hawkeye’s face.

“Unfortunately, I’m here, so I think you’re the one in trouble.” Henry, who had been sitting at a cafe table, now approached Frank, his hands in the pockets of his expensive suit. “Please leave now, Frank.”

“Hey! You don’t run this show anymore!” Frank protested, but it was plain to see his confidence had vanished through his feet into the floor. He grabbed his drink and left in a huff.

Hawkeye smiled. “Glad to see your little last day outburst has had a lasting effect on our favorite customer, Henry.” (A year prior, as Henry was preparing to leave the store for the last time, he had been accosted by Frank, who wished to demand a refund; Henry told him to eat shit.)

“What can I say?” Henry shrugged. “Always glad to be of service. Hi, Margaret. How have you been?”

Margaret’s face lit up. “Henry! Glad you came to visit. I’m making your drink right now.”

Hawkeye finished the drink he was making (an iced quad blonde espresso with almond milk, toffee nut, and a bit of caramel drizzle), grabbed a straw, and snuck into the back again. He set the drink on the desk in front of B.J. “Drink up. Perfect remedy for tiredness, unless it’s not actually tiredness and you just don’t want to talk about it.”

B.J. forced a half-smile, opened the straw, stuck it in his drink, and took a sip. “You got it kind of right. I am actually tired, and there is something I don’t want to talk about.”

“Understood. If you change your mind, you know what to do. Hey, guess what?”

“What?”

“Henry was just here. He’s having a party on Saturday with free lobster and free booze, and we’re all invited.”

“Sounds like fun. I’ll be there. Thanks for the drink, Hawkeye.” B.J. raised his plastic cup in a mock toast.

“Any time.” Hawkeye returned to the front and slumped over the register, but the caffeine prevented him from falling asleep again, so he just slumped there, awake, until it was time for B.J. to take over for him.

****

The week passed quickly, as it tends to do when one is wagecucking. At 4:30 on Saturday, Hawkeye clocked out, passed the store keys to Charles, got into his car, and headed for Henry’s.

Henry owned a large riverfront house; his backyard was huge and he had a dock to which a lobster boat was moored. A rowboat sat upon the dock upturned, which Henry could use to paddle out to his sailboat, which stood anchored in a part of the river that remained deep at all times, no matter if the tide was high or low. Hawkeye guided his car to the side of the road, locked it, and began his ascent through Henry’s wraparound porch into the house.

Henry greeted Hawkeye at the door almost immediately, drink in hand and Lorraine Blake at his side. “Pierce!” he exclaimed. “Everyone’s here now. What took you so long?”

“Work,” Hawkeye said; he gave Henry a quick hug and Lorraine a brief kiss on the cheek. “Good to see you. Where’s the food and booze?”

“In the kitchen.” Henry gestured towards his wife. “The lovely Mrs. Blake will escort you.”

“We saved you a lobster,” Mrs. Blake said, ushering Hawkeye into the kitchen. “A nice big one.”

Hawkeye nodded. “The only kind I like.” Lorraine opened the giant pot on the stove, reached in with a pair of tongs, removed the reddest, steamiest, most delicious-looking lobster Hawkeye had ever seen, and placed it carefully on a plate alongside a nutcracker, a lobster pick, and a dish of melted butter. She passed the plate to Hawkeye, who gingerly accepted it.

“Something to drink?” Henry appeared in the kitchen and was now rummaging through the fridge.

“Please,” Hawkeye said. “Highest percentage of alcohol you got.”

Henry stood up and closed the fridge. “Oh! You want the punch.” He quickly motioned to Lorraine. “He wants some of the punch,” he whispered.

“Punch? Is this a frat party?”

“You’re trying to tell me you don’t want some of Mrs. Blake’s famous punch?”

“No, sir, of course I do, but aren’t you forty? Excuse my rudeness, but you’re a little old to be serving jungle juice at a house party.”

“Is that what the kids these days call it? Jungle juice? I really like the sound of that!” Lorraine re-entered the room with a plastic cup filled with god-knows-what; she presented it to Hawkeye. “Honey, Hawkeye calls it jungle juice. We should start calling it that!”

“What a perfect name!” Lorraine said. “I think I’ll be using that.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Take a sip!”

Hawkeye lifted the plastic cup to his lips and took a sip. To describe the taste as “revolting” would be too kind. It was as if the drink was somehow 100% sugar _and_ 100% liquor; Hawkeye forced it down, trying to keep his expression of discomfort inside his head. He felt drunk almost instantly. “Very good,” he said.

Henry and Lorraine cheered; Henry clapped Hawkeye on the back. “So glad you like it, buddy. Everyone is on the back deck.”

The absolutely _massive_ back deck. Balancing his cup of punch on his lobster plate, Hawkeye pushed open the screen door; there must have been at least fifty people on the deck, but it wasn’t crowded at all. Nevertheless, Hawkeye recognized basically none of these people, until he spotted Radar in the corner, performing delicate surgery on his lobster. Hawkeye hurried over to join the one familiar person he could see. “Radar!”

Radar looked up from his lobster. “Oh, hello, Hawkeye! Sit here!” The “table” Radar sat at was really just a very big lobster trap; Hawkeye set his plate down gently and took another sip of Mrs. Blake’s rapidly intoxicating jungle juice. “Whatcha drinking?”

Hawkeye glanced sheepishly at his cup of punch. “Something very unholy, that you should never even think of touching in your lifetime.”

“Mrs. Blake’s punch?”

“Yep.” Hawkeye began twisting the legs off of his lobster and dipped one in the butter. “How’s yours?”

“The best,” Radar said. “Nobody makes lobster like Mrs. Blake.”

Hawkeye nibbled on the leg, sucking the meat out of it. “I’m not sure if you’re right yet. I think I have to increase the sample size.” He rapidly finished the other seven legs and busted open a claw.

Hawkeye’s lobster-dismantling peace was disrupted by another familiar voice. “Is this seat taken?” Radar and Hawkeye looked up to see the Deacon approaching the lobster trap from which they ate.

“I always leave a seat open for the Lord!” Hawkeye scooted over to accommodate the Deacon.

“Have you tried the lobster yet? I always get a bit squeamish with fish.” The Deacon poked at his lobster’s claw with the lobster pick.

“How do you survive Fridays during Lent?” Hawkeye said, mid-bite.

“I just avoid both fish and meat,” the Deacon said. “I get my protein from dairy on those days.”

“Well, Lorraine’s lobster is absolutely delicious, and it might just change your mind on fish altogether.” Hawkeye split open his lobster tail and carefully sliced out the meat.

The Deacon sat silently for a moment. “...Pardon me for asking such a ridiculous question, but how does one eat a lobster?”

“I’ll show you, Deeks!” Radar said. “First you twist off the legs and dip them in the butter…”

After stuffing the tail meat into his mouth, Hawkeye bid farewell to Radar and the Deacon and returned his plate to the kitchen. He was already decently drunk off of the small amount of punch he’d had, so after ensuring Mrs. Blake was nowhere near him, he poured the rest of it into the sink. 

Free of his plates and punch, he returned to the party. He hadn’t seen B.J. yet.

Hawkeye glanced around the crowd for his... friend? Fuck buddy? He couldn’t call him a fuck buddy if all they’d ever done was kiss, once. What exactly _was_ B.J. to him? It mattered to him a little bit what B.J. was, but what mattered more was that Hawkeye was drunk and B.J. was somewhere.

He found whatever-he-was leaned against the deck rail, staring out into the backyard. “Hey, man. What’s up?” Hawkeye also positioned himself against the deck rail, but he was staring at B.J. instead of Henry’s yard.

B.J. shrugged, not saying a word.

“Yeah. Sometimes it really do be like that.”

“My divorce papers came in.”

B.J.’s words fell like an anvil on the deck; the smile dropped off of Hawkeye’s face immediately. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know what to say, man. I’m really sorry.”

No response.

“Is this what was bothering you a few days ago?”

Nothing.

Hawkeye stepped the tiniest bit closer to B.J. “Beej, listen, if there’s anything I can do to help--”

“There is most definitely _not._ ” B.J. abruptly pushed himself away from the railing and disappeared into the crowd.

“Oh, shit.” Hawkeye tried to follow him, but he had vanished, just as soon as he had found him. _What did I say? What did I do?_ Thoughts scrambled freely around his head, before he landed on the right one: the kiss they had shared only a week ago, on the steps to his apartment. _Of course that was what it was._ Hawkeye could remember last weekend so clearly, yet it felt like so long ago. B.J. had passed out in his arms as Hawkeye brought him inside; he had draped him carefully onto the futon in his living room and gone off to catch a tiny amount of sleep before he would have to get up for work a mere two hours later. He remembered taking one last look at B.J. on his way out; he had such a calm, peaceful look on his face. It all made sense to him now, how B.J. had become increasingly frigid as the week had agonizingly rolled onward. That stupid piece of paper! How dare it ruin that beautiful man’s peace by calling him “divorced?” Hawkeye had half a mind to go find it and rip it to shreds, and being just up the block from shitfaced, half a mind was all he had at his disposal. But first, he needed to sit down. He shoved his way through the increasingly tight crowd of people. How many friends did Henry Blake _have?_ Suddenly, he bumped head-on into someone. As he mumbled some drunken apology, he felt that someone’s arms grab his arms. “Hawkeye? Are you alright?”

Her head was swimming in the air in front of him, but Hawkeye still recognized Margaret's concerned face. “I need to sit down,” he mumbled, feebly trying to wrestle himself free of her.

“Oh, yes, you do.” Margaret forcefully looped her arm into Hawkeye’s and shoved her way through the crowd. “Excuse me,” she said as she pushed. “Pardon me. Beep, beep. _Get the hell out of my way.”_ Hawkeye felt Margaret push him gently onto a wicker bench; she sat down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hawkeye, what the hell happened?”

“I had some of Mrs. Blake’s jungle juice, and--”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Oh my god. Never do that again. Go on.”

“--and B.J. got his divorce papers, and--”

“Are you serious? No wonder he’s been in such a funk.”

“He has? I thought he was just being like that to me.”

Margaret gave him a look. “Why the hell would you think that? His divorce isn’t all about you.”

“I know, but I kissed him last week, and I tried to talk to him just now, and he, he walked away from me, he seemed, he seemed really, upset that I was there.” Hawkeye’s voice had risen to a low whine, and a hard lump had formed in his throat. Margaret put her arm around him and pulled him close. “God _damn_ it. Why am I doing this?”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Margaret rubbed Hawkeye’s shoulder with her free hand. “Let it out.”

“I don’t _want to,_ ” Hawkeye blubbered, a couple stray tears already escaping his eyes. “It’s just a stupid crush. I’m twenty-five years old. What grown man cries over a crush?” After trying to force that sentence out coherently, his emotions and his drunkenness got the better of him and he sobbed into his hands for a few moments while Margaret held him.

“If it means anything, I’ve actually noticed at work that B.J. seems _more_ comfortable around you than around the rest of us,” Margaret said once he’d quieted down a bit.

Hawkeye sniffed. “Really?”

“Yeah. He seems, even as recently as yesterday, to relax more when you’re on the floor joking around with him.”

“I never wanted to do anything to hurt him,” Hawkeye said, wiping away fresh tears. “Anything I ever did, like kissing him, was because I thought he was okay with it.”

“I’m sure he _was_ okay with it,” Margaret reassured him. “He’s just going through a lot right now. Can you imagine getting married at seventeen, having a child, and then getting divorced at twenty-four?”

“I guess I can’t.” Hawkeye lifted his shirt slightly to dry his face with it.

“He really does like you, Hawkeye. He just gets so cute when you’re around him. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed.”

Hawkeye smiled. “I haven’t. You really think so?”

“Of course. You two have great energy, and someday you’ll be great together. You just have to let him heal from his last relationship first, okay?”

Hawkeye gave Margaret a tight hug and stood up abruptly. “I need to go talk to him. Thank you, Margaret. Nice chatting with you.”

“Hey, maybe that’s not such a good idea--” Margaret’s voice was cut off in the crowd Hawkeye found himself eagerly shoving through. _Why were there so many people at this fucking fish party?_ He finally made it to the edge of the deck and surveyed the yard before spotting B.J. exactly where he thought he would be: sitting on Henry’s dock, gazing blankly out at the river.

Hawkeye shoved his way over to the stairs and jogged across the giant backyard. He tread softly onto the dock, as if walking quietly would make him invisible to B.J., who sat on the edge, his shoes off and his pants rolled up to his knees, his feet dangling in the water.

Hawkeye squatted down next to him. “Hey, B.J., I--”

“Shut up,” B.J. said.

“Oh, okay.” Hawkeye began to stand up.

“No, don’t leave.”

“...Okay.” Hawkeye squatted back down.

“Just sit here and be quiet.”

Hawkeye smiled to himself. “Okay.” He kicked off his own sandals and rolled his own pants up to his knees, and sat down on the edge of the deck with his feet in the water, three feet of leaving-room-for-Jesus between the two men.

The sun had begun to set over the river; its reflection spread like fire over the rippling water. For a moment that felt like an eternity, Hawkeye sat on the edge of the dock, river water tickling his calves; the sound of the party still just barely audible behind him, the infinity of the sunset displayed before him, and the beautiful, silent man sitting next to him, at whom, once in an eon, he would steal a glance.

“I knew it was going to end someday,” B.J. said suddenly.

Hawkeye turned his full attention to B.J., who continued to blankly stare straight ahead. “Yeah?”

“From the moment I first saw her. I always had this feeling it was going to end. I just never wanted it to.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re probably thinking this, even if you were too polite to ask it. No, I don’t regret what happened last week. It’s just weird to think about right now.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m really sorry for ditching you earlier. It’s just weird to think about right now.”

“I understand.”

“You don’t, but it’s okay.”

Another eternity of silence passed, then, out of nowhere, B.J. scooted closer to Hawkeye and placed a hand on top of his; Hawkeye slipped his hand out from under B.J.’s, scooted in even closer, and draped an arm around his shoulders. “Is this okay?” he asked.

B.J. shrugged and rested his head on Hawkeye’s shoulder. “Why not.”

The two of them sat on the dock as such in comfortable silence until the sun finally disappeared under the horizon.

END

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! sorry it's been a minute since the last installment, i recently moved states. i have no real update schedule for this series, i just write whenever the inspiration strikes me. hopefully with the quarantine i'll be writing a lot more! thanks for reading :)


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